


The Deity’s Grip

by Mimiwritesfic



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Study, F/M, Fierce Deity - Freeform, Hero’s Shade reference, Hurt No Comfort, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), OMC is only there to be creepy and self-righteous no worries, Probably Slightly Inaccurate Zelda Lore, and i said ‘like this’, discord said ‘how did time lose his eye’, technically lu it gets more lu in the next chapter, yeah lots of blood how was it me that wrote this jkdfgh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimiwritesfic/pseuds/Mimiwritesfic
Summary: The other heroes tend to assume Time is being cryptic about his stories on purpose to mess with people—fighting the moon? Really?—but in some cases, he’s not being playful.In some cases, the true story is simply too much to tell.(We still don’t know how he lost his eye, or why his Fierce Deity markings frame the scar, after all)
Relationships: Fierce Deity & Link (Legend of Zelda), Link/Malon (Legend of Zelda), Malon (Legend of Zelda)/Time (Linked Universe), Time & Twilight (Linked Universe), Time and me hurting him
Comments: 43
Kudos: 310





	1. Broken Oaths

**Author's Note:**

> This fic does have quite a bit of blood and injury in it! I know it’s tagged but do beware, there’s no respite from the angst this time around. 
> 
> I’m not sorry for the pun

Time had only ever been truly, fully honest with one person: Malon. Everyone else got either part of the truth of his adventures or none of it, whether it was because of Time’s varying opinion of them or their suspension of disbelief (Talon, for instance, knew his true age but didn’t actually believe it). He could count on one hand those who knew more details than “killed Ganon, saved the world, saved the world again”, all thanks to the careful walls he kept up. 

Traveling with the other heroes, however, had weakened those walls dramatically. 

_“What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever fought?”_

_“The moon.”_

_“Is that your worst scar?”_

_“No, this isn’t the worst scar I’ve got.”_

_“Would you look at that! The Old Man’s hitched!”_

_“Yeah, I got a missus.”_

The littler things slipped out so easily around the others—the details he rarely mentioned to anyone else. Not that he _clarified_ them, but he never lied about anything other than his age. Gradually, the bigger things became easier to speak aloud too. 

_“From what we’ve come to know of each other, we are in fact related, not only by spirit, but in blood.”_

Not that Twilight was the only one he counted as family—or even, possibly, the only one related to him—but Time still surprised himself sometimes with how _easy_ it was to talk to the rest. It wasn’t _easy_ for him to talk to anyone who wasn’t Malon, and that had taken a few years. He’d been on the road for all of a couple months. 

“-ime. Time? You‘ve been staring at nothing since Wind asked how you got that scar, you okay?”

“Hm?” Time started, wrenching his gaze away from the dimming coals of the fire. Twilight had managed to sneak up on him somehow, and concern colored his angular features. “Oh, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Your ‘thinking’ face doesn’t look like the coals tried to murder you,” countered Twilight. “Was it… worse than you said? Not that a kitchen accident like that isn’t bad.”

Time had told them his bad eye was an incident involving a poorly-handled knife grip and a protruding floorboard. Just the hint was enough to make Sky blanch and Wind change the subject, which was just fine. 

_“Give me the mask, demon, or your host loses everything!”_

“I just don’t like to think about it,” said Time smoothly. “I scared Malon pretty badly that day. She’s not… usually around when I actually get hurt.”

And he wasn’t exactly _lying,_ either. 

Twilight seemed to pick up on the fact that Time wasn’t going to say anything further, so he slowly said goodnight and left to set up his bedroll. It was fairly early to be going to sleep, but dinner was over and they’d spent the day engaging in tiring skirmishes, so half of the party was already passed out and snoring (Wind was even bundled in Warriors’ scarf, much to Time’s amusement). Even Wild, notorious for his nightmares, seemed to be peaceful from under his wrinkled blanket. 

Time was not scheduled to be on watch that night—unfortunate, since he couldn’t fall asleep for what felt like days. Instead, he counted the stars that poked through the screen of trees above his head, waiting. And waiting. 

And remembering. 

**_“Go ahead, put me away. I will still be here waiting, child.”_ **

And when memories of that day became dreams, the mask was there waiting as promised. 

—

Even after all the insane adventures he’d been on, Link still wasn’t sure whether or not the War of Eras was a dream. He bore some scars from it, so it _probably_ happened—and that evidence was precisely why he wrapped up his most dangerous mask and refused to look at it directly again. 

He couldn’t get rid of it. It just came back. 

So the mask stayed near him at all times: when he finally found the right ring for Malon, when he moved into the ranch for good, when he started to consider retiring. For nearly two decades the mask remained unused, as did his other masks. Link swore to himself that he could function without them. 

Evidently the Goddess heard him and took offense, because one day, Link came home to an empty house—an empty house with the door left ajar. Malon _never_ left the door open. 

“Malon?” Instantly suspicious, Link drew his sword and pushed inside cautiously, scanning for any enemies. He found none. “Is-“

 _Crunch._ Broken glass crumbled under his armored boots, and its snapping sounds mirrored the feeling of Link’s heart. He searched for the source and found that several glasses had been smashed near the front door, as if someone had thrown them at an unwanted visitor. Further destruction revealed itself as Link searched the house with increasing desperation—a torn set of curtains, a smashed window, and most chilling of all: several drops of blood staining the floor by the smashed window. 

_Human_ blood, Link knew, just from touching it. Whether it was from his wife or from whoever had broken in, he didn’t know—but if it _had_ come from Malon, then someone would pay. Someone… like whoever had left a note stuck in the kitchen wall with a knife, right at Link’s eye level. 

_Ser Link,_

_I trust you understand what has happened in your home. I do apologize for the unnecessary property damage, but it seems you married someone with an equal fighting spirit. She is unharmed—though you will need to collect her yourself. Bring a good fight, but no backup or I will know. Do be quick, lest I leave of boredom and take your wife with me._

_Follow the trail, and be quick about it._

The edge of the paper ripped from how hard Link was clutching it. The knife would be no help—it was one of the ones from his own kitchen, and could not be used to identify the group responsible. What “trail” had the note meant?

He would figure it out in time. For now, preparations—at least Link hadn’t managed to unpack all of his gear before entering, which would have lost him precious time. He still needed to leave a note for Talon (who was on a trip to Castle Town and due to arrive back later that day). As he scrambled around to gather the right supplies, Link went over the possibilities in his mind. 

_Whoever wrote that note wrote it_ after _capturing her. They were here, and they seem to know a lot about me. A Ganondorf fanatic? A really intelligent monster?_

It could have been anyone or anything, an enemy he knew or one he didn’t, which was why Link caught his hand hovering over the wrapped mask. Would he need it? No one outside of Malon knew he had the cursed thing, so could he safely leave it behind?

Another glance at his hand and Link saw the spot of blood left from his investigation. Fury and fear in equal portions reared up in his mind and he slid the mask into his pack without further hesitation, making sure it was in an easy-to-reach pocket. He swore to only use it if he _had_ to, if there was no other choice. 

_Talon,_

_Something happened. I’ll be back with Malon as soon as possible. Don’t call the castle unless we’re not back by dawn._

_-Link_

Maybe a worrying note to leave, but Link couldn’t bring himself to stay longer and write a better one. He left it on the kitchen table and left the house, intent on the stables. He needed a good horse—he needed Epona. But even as he closed the back door behind him and stepped down, something caught his eye. 

A scrap of yellow fabric had been tied to the fence, fluttering like a banner near the muddy ground. Link would recognize his wife’s favorite neckerchief _anywhere_ with how often she wore it. He changed tack immediately, scrambling to grab it and only belatedly realizing what its placement meant. 

_Tied, not snagged. It was put here on purpose._

Slowly, Link looked up and scanned the area with eyes steadied by cold fury. The grass was trampled to the east by the prints of several horses, with tracks that looked suspiciously like a wagon joining them. The ground was churned up to that point, like something had been unwillingly dragged to the wagon, fighting all the way. 

The cold fury solidified into something solid and heavy in Link’s chest, radiating frost like smoking ice. It seemed to spread through his very bloodstream as he hurried to get Epona and follow the trail, chilling his bones and hardening his gaze until everything faded away. All he saw was the churned-up earth, and all he felt was numbing anger and fear. 

_Please let Malon be okay._

Because if she wasn’t… Link didn’t know what he’d do. 

So instead of thinking too much, he spurred Epona forward with eyes only for the trail ahead, not even glancing back as Lon Lon Ranch disappeared from sight. He rode, following the torn-up earth and occasional obvious flag tied to trees, for longer than he cared to track. 

Eventually, he came upon Gerudo Valley, where a local tradesman told him a suspicious wagon had passed by a mere few hours before, which only spurred Link’s determination further. Travel became a blur as he made it to the sands, where he was forced to leave Epona in capable hands and continue on his own. 

Traversing the desert was no easier than it had been as a child, but Link’s perseverance did not falter. He sliced down minor enemies with hardly a thought, now following a trail of flags tied to bushes and pinned to the sand with rocks. He didn’t care that it was probably a trap—and when he finally came to the end of the trail and found a crumbling fortress waiting in the sands, Link just stared up at the hulk of black stone with hard eyes. 

No sentries cried their alarm when Link edged along the crumbling wall. No patrols stopped him, no guards awaited within the dusty grounds surrounding a haunted-looking main hall. Link drew his sword as he edged past the front gate, watching and waiting for something to happen. 

Dust drifted across his vision. 

Sand scraped against his boots. 

_And the gate slammed shut on its own behind him._

Link whipped around and, too late, noticed the several obvious signs of Leevers in the sands around him and the tracks of other, unknown enemies. He hadn’t bothered to do a better scan—something he regretted when a veritable army of the sharp-toothed Leevers surged up right under his feet. 

Sheer luck and good reflexes allowed Link to make it off the sands and into the entryway, where he smashed the lock with the pommel of his sword and slammed the door shut behind him, bracing it with his back while he got his bearings.

The fortress was poorly-lit and reeked of mold, with tattered wall hangings barely clinging to the crumbling walls. The ceiling was lost to the gloom, and Link couldn’t even _see_ the end of the hallway that stretched out in front of him and to the sides. Shadowy, humanoid statues lined the walls in every direction, flanking pitch-black doorways that gave off threatening auras. Link took a deep breath, coughing at the thick smell of decay. Where had he smelled that before?

But before he could identify it, the statues nearest to the door he had just slammed shut shuddered. No, the entire floor shuddered—twin _thump, thump, thump_ noises, like something massive was approaching. Link fell into a fighting stance, eyeing each of the three hallways and carefully edging away from the door to try and get a good look. 

Two Iron Knuckles emerged from the darkness, hefting their axes as if the massive weapons weighed nothing. Link had to leap out of the way of the first strike before he could fight back, cursing his luck and whoever dared force him into this situation. 

_You’re not stopping me,_ he swore, staring down each encroaching Iron Knuckle with fire to rival Death Mountain. _I won’t let you._

And so the battle began in a flurry of crashing steel and threatening shouts. Link had faced Iron Knuckles before—his sword chipped away at their armor with practiced ease, even though he had to dodge more often than he could attack. 

But Link noticed something wrong even as he sought out weak points and dodged debilitating hits—some of which glanced off his armor, sending shocks of pain through his nerves each time. The Iron Knuckles were aiming to kill as they always did, but each movement blocked off his escape in all directions but one: further into the fortress. They _wanted_ him to go down the center hallway. 

_CLANG!_

Link cursed his own distraction as an Iron Knuckle got too close and nearly took his head off. His leap backwards destabilized him, allowing the next strike to clash against his chestplate and send him flying backwards, scattering his items. To make things worse, he saw and _felt_ the signs of backup emerging from behind his current adversaries. More enemies to herd him, great—and _he had lost his sword._

Then Link’s scrabbling hands finally found something—but it wasn’t his dropped sword, which had skittered off into the shadows like most of his things when the Iron Knuckle hit. It was a simple wooden mask in his own likeness, which he hooked to his belt as he scrambled away from a descending axe with only a half-second’s hesitation. He _wouldn’t_ use it, not yet. 

Link dodged and weaved, casting about for his fallen sword as the Iron Knuckles advanced. He had to find his sword, his items, he had to find _Malon-_

The mask hummed.

“No!” he told it sternly, dodging a swipe that would have cracked a rib had he taken it. But the four more Iron Knuckles advancing on him, their steps crumbling the weaker stones in the floor, and Link knew he couldn’t fight them outright—so he chose to get away from them and head further into the fortress, hoping against hope that they were slower. His sword, he knew, was long gone. 

Link had only been running for a minute when he realized the Iron Knuckles were no longer following, their footsteps no longer echoing through the dreary halls. He’d lost them—but by running in a straight line? They were slow, but not _that_ slow. Something was wrong. 

The smell of rot was growing stronger, Link noticed, finally reaching a room that wasn’t pitch-black or just off the hallway. He edged in carefully, squinting in the creepy, airless gloom. Lumps decorated the floor at random intervals, the closest five feet from Link’s boot and the furthest guarding an imposing door at the opposite end. 

A door with another scrap of yellow neckerchief tied to its handle. 

_Are those… bodies?_ Link thought nauseously, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there out of habit as he stepped fully into the room. 

Then one of the bodies twitched, reared up, and _screamed._ Link froze in sheer, unnatural terror, unable to react when the door slammed shut behind him at the hand of a shadowy figure who leapt into the rafters after sealing him in. 

ReDead. 

_Each and every one of the bodies was a ReDead._

And Link was unarmed. 

_No, no, NO-_

But the reeking corpses continued to lurch to their feet and make their slow ways towards him, the closest one near enough for Link to smell its rank breath as it sank its teeth into his shoulder. He ripped free of the hold and scrambled to get away, far enough away to plan, he _just needed a plan-_

The mask hummed. 

The ReDeads growled. 

Link couldn’t afford to hesitate. Besides the mask, he had nothing helpful against ReDeads—no sword, no Gibdo mask, not even a shield with which to defend himself. 

So for the first time in years he slid the Fierce Deity’s mask over his face, bracing for the pain that came with losing control of his own body. 

_You better save her._

—

The Fierce Deity had seen, felt, and heard the experiences of many mortals over the course of his imprisonment and stint protecting Termina. By and large, he considered them greedy, bloodthirsty creatures who would tear apart the world for the sake of personal gain. Skull Kids, after all, were once mortal, and Majora had no problem corrupting one of them. He sneered at such mortals, giving them all the power they wanted—for he knew it would burn them up in the end. 

And then the young hero came along. 

He wanted to defeat Majora, he said. To save Termina and go back home. Why _did_ he want to leave so quickly, when Termina offered the power of the masks? The Fierce Deity was almost sure that it would be for some typical mortal reason—laziness, a desire to no longer carry responsibility. 

“To find my friend,” said the young hero back then, instantly changing the Fierce Deity’s perspective. 

He grew protective of the child, who was so willing to defend others and fight for those weaker than himself that he dared use the mask casually, not as a trapped god. He even asked the Deity for his true name once—quietly, privately, in the wake of a harrowing battle in another era. 

**_“I do not recall, child. It has been… so long.”_ **

“Everybody has a name,” said the young hero. “Can I give you one?”

The Fierce Deity remained quiet for some time. **_“No.”_ **

“No?”

**_“I believe… I can start to remember if I remain with you. You are unique among my hosts, child.”_ **

The young hero was clearly confused, sitting with his little brows scrunched in the dark of his tent. “Why?”

 **_“You talk to me,”_ ** said the Deity simply. **_“I am no mere tool to you, and therefore, you are different. I will protect you, child, I swear it.”_ **

But the young hero still grew fearful of him after too many battles, and tried to dispose of the mask. The Fierce Deity could not force him to wear it—but he bitterly hung on, using what little magic he had to stay with the hero through anything. 

And now he called on the mask once more in desperation and fear and fury, allowing the Fierce Deity inside for the first time in years. 

**_“You call upon me once more? Very well.”_ **

The Deity took over his host’s body with record speed, noting the sheer number of enemies surrounding him and the blood that already streamed down his side. A wave of his gloved hand banished the wounds and he drew the double-helix sword, a grim smile stretching across his features. To feel again, truly _feel,_ was an experience the Deity had missed dearly. 

And right in front of him were plenty of targets to practice his strength on. The ReDeads never stood a chance against the might of the Fierce Deity, even though he was slightly weakened outside of his typical stomping grounds. Two humanoid enemies tried to attack him with slim blades—the Deity merely smacked them both out of the air and brought his sword down upon their heads. Too easy. 

His host objected when the Deity slashed apart an enemy that was already fallen—an objection which the Deity scorned. **_“You did not call upon me when you should have. I know the fear that curls around your heart even now, child. I will be thorough, and you will allow me to take control as you agreed to by putting on the mask.”_ **

He found two imposing doors that seemed likely for his goal not long later and wasted no time in kicking them down. There, not ten yards away, stood an white-haired and lightly-armored man next to the wife of his host atop a raised dais. She seemed unharmed, if terrified and tied to a chair, but his host still suffered a pang of pure protective fear at the sight of her. She glanced between her captor and the Deity rapidly, and thought she kept her expression stubborn, fear showed in her rapid movements. 

The man on the dais dropped something metal that sparked on the floor behind him when the Deity entered. Already showing fear… how mortal of him, even though he held most of the cards. 

**_“This is what happens when I am ignored,”_ ** he told his host reprovingly. **_“Do you see what you might have lost, child?”_ **

“Demon,” said the man commandingly, “release your host. Renounce him. Remove the mask.”

The Deity slowly cocked his head to one side, allowing his sword to drift to one side and highlight its sharp curves, already stained with monster blood and the blood of the two likely-human enemies he had slain. **_“Who are you to command a Deity?”_ **

“I am no one of importance,” said his unknown enemy, shrugging eloquently and stepping closer to the chair. The Deity could see his features now—middle-aged and angled, with the blood-red eyes of someone who spent much time calculating. A strategist, one who carried himself as someone who had won enough battles to believe he was infallible. 

**_“I prefer to know my enemy.”_ **

“I am merely a Sheikah who knows many secrets, including that of your existence,” said his enemy. “I know you have latched on to your host and could threaten the very world we live in, demon, and for that reason I will ensure you can no longer act with an innocent’s body. Remove the mask.”

The Deity raised his sword higher, letting his enemy get a better look at its dangerous curves. He did not lash out—his aim was good, but not good enough to miss his host’s wife when she was so near to his target. **_“Or what?”_ **

“I believe you _know_ ‘what’, demon,” said his enemy, gesturing one-handed to his captive. The Deity’s host reacted violently to that, his mind spasming and actually causing a twitch in the Deity’s face. “Attached to a mortal host as you are, destabilizing your control is quite simple.”

 **_“Surely you know,”_ ** said the Deity, stepping forward with his sword raised, **_“that a being such as I does not take orders-“_ **

But the Sheikah man had moved in the mere seconds it took for the Deity to respond, drawing a wickedly sharp knife from a sheath at his hip and setting it to his host’s wife’s neck. She froze, eyes flashing in equal parts anger and fear, at the same time as the Deity stopped moving. 

“Give me the mask, demon, or your host loses everything!”

His host refused to let their shared body move an inch, tugging hard enough to actually change the Deity’s expression. If the Sheikah carried through with his threat… the Deity might _actually_ lose control of their shared body. 

**_“Do not interfere with me,”_ ** he told his host through gritted teeth. **_“You will cost us!”_ **

“If you will not remove the mask,” said the Shiekah, “I will.”

The Deity would have laughed at that, if he remembered how to laugh. No Shiekah could not lay _him_ low, even with their fabled combat abilities.

But then he heard something explode in the shadowy upper portions of the hall.

The Deity’s eyes widened just the smallest fraction and he tried to make a move, but his host still refused to try and threaten the Sheikah lest he injure his hostage. **_“Fool! Do not fight me-“_ **

But even the moment’s forced hesitation was enough to leave the Deity in the path of two collapsing pillars, primed to fall directly on the spot just beyond the doors, a trap set for him specifically. 

_The sparks. He triggered a fuse._

The Deity had no time to dodge and felt the pillars hit with a _thud_ to rival the sound of a landslide, flattening him to the ground. Even through his armor, the Deity knew his ribs had been bruised—but worst of all, his _arms were pinned._

He had never been pinned by _anything._ Not since his curse trapped him in the mask. 

“Link!”

There was his host’s wife, crying out despite the sharp metal prodding the skin at her neck. What was her name…? the Deity was having trouble collecting himself. A completely new emotion was rapidly taking over his mind: _fear._

Fear that his host would yank back control and shatter the delicate situation, fear that—for the first time—he would actually be _defeated._ Fear that he would be stolen again by a greedy mortal, to be locked away and imprisoned even worse than the mask-

And worse, he had sworn to _protect_ his current host. The Deity feared becoming an oathbreaker. 

_“Link!”_

“That has merely stalled the demon. Your husband is fine,” said the Sheikah dismissively, removing the knife from Malon’s neck. He knew—or he thought—that he’d won. “I will pry that mask off myself.”

“Don’t you _dare_ try to hurt him,” snarled Malon. The Deity was actually impressed by the sheer fire she managed to summon in her eyes—‘if looks could kill’ indeed. He tried to shift from the rubble while the Sheikah was distracted and halted, his ribcage screaming and his mind muddled. Pain was decidedly _not_ something the Deity was used to, and he hated every second of it. 

“You have no choice in the matter, madam,” said the Sheikah, descending from his dais to approach the Deity with knife in hand. “If the demon releases your husband right away, no further harm will come to him.”

 _That man is dangerously misguided and blinded by his own perceived victory,_ said the rational mind of the Deity. Did that pompous Sheikah not realize that removing the Deity from his host would allow the rubble to crush him completely?

His host stirred, realizing the same thing, and the Deity finally sensed the tiniest ounce of self-preservation from him. 

**_“Do not come closer,”_ **he growled at the Sheikah, who continued to approach, knife at the ready. It gleamed in the dim torchlight, razor-sharp. 

**_“Do not come closer!”_ **

“Then release him.”

In lieu of a response, the Deity growled once more—but he failed to dissuade the Sheikah. The knife lowered towards his face. 

_No. No!_

He was losing control, his host was stirring, the _knife kept getting closer and he could not move from the rubble-_

The Sheikah finally pressed the tip of the knife to the edge of his face, searching for the edge of the mask, and his host panicked. He jerked his head upwards in a frantic, futile attempt to get away, but he only succeeded in allowing the knife to cut deep across one eye. 

Everything went white. The Deity was distantly aware of Malon screaming, and another voice—his host’s—crying out in pain, but he saw nothing and felt only the searing line across his eye. 

Link felt his ribs explode in pain like swallowing knives and his legs losing blood flow, could twitch a finger as the mask began to slip-

The Deity felt the mask slip and knew his host would die of blood loss and pressure if he let go, so he clung tight-

Link knew he was still screaming, his throat hoarse, but the pain from his eye was nothing compared to the white-hot burning where he _knew_ the Deity’s facial markings were-

The Deity stood his ground. Held on. And _refused_ to let his host go. He held on with the ferocity of a thousand suns, channeling every ounce of his power into a desperate gambit, healing the eye, chaining the mask to his host’s face with magic and summoning his sword to himself. He woke to find himself freed from the rubble, dripping blood from his face and standing over the terrified Sheikah with sword in hand.

 **_“You miscalculated horribly,”_ **snarled the Fierce Deity, every inch the defending warrior he was born to be even with the wounds covering his body. The Sheikah never stood a chance. 

He was quick, for his host’s sake, and for Malon’s. 

Not long after, he went to the chair and gently undid the bonds, waiting while Malon rubbed her wrists and regarded him with a mixture of shock and curiosity. She didn’t stand just yet—which might have been related to how her legs were shaking, which the Deity chose not to comment on. 

**_“Your name is Malon… am I right?”_ **The Fierce Deity tilted his head to one side, studying her. She studied him right back, perhaps searching for a sign of his host’s personality. 

“That’s… that’s me, yes,” said Malon, accepting the proffered hand to get her feet under her. The Deity hung on when she’d stood, slightly unsure what to do with his hands, but she let go on her own. He was starting to list slightly to the side, a bad symptom he disregarded for the time being. “Will Link be alright? Will you be alright?”

 **_“I am not sure. We must leave, and quickly,”_ ** said the Deity, more surprised by the inquiry to his health than her apparent lack of awe in his presence. **_“My host is unconscious, but he will fight me when he wakes.”_ **

“Then let him go,” said Malon firmly. “Take off the mask.”

 **_“I cannot. It is not safe to do so, unless you can prevent him from puncturing a lung and bleeding out,”_ **said the Deity, staring her down stubbornly. Malon stared at him right back, refusing to back down. 

“Then swear you will when it’s safe,” she told him. “When we’re out of the desert, release Link.”

Her eyes burned with that stubborn fire again, and though she stood a full head shorter and shook slightly from residual shock, the fire never dimmed. The Deity could see why his host had fallen for her. 

**_“Very well,”_ ** he said, backing off slightly. **_”I can see you will not yield. How did he get you here?”_ **

“A wagon. It should still be here… and so should his cronies,” said Malon, grimacing. 

The Deity blinked slowly, recalling the humanoid enemies he had slain. **_“They are already dead by my hand. My host has left his things scattered near the entrance, and enemies await, so we should move quickly.”_ **

Malon looked between the Deity’s proffered hand and his bloodied face, then gripped his hand tightly. “Let’s leave.”

—

Link woke within the Deity’s mind slowly, woozily, remembering horrible burning pain and the cursed screams of his own voice and the Deity’s. The pain was not gone, but his eye felt nothing. He dimly recognized the Deity speaking—and _Malon,_ she was nearby, she was _safe._ He thought he recognized the bumping of a wagon, which eventually shifted to walking that jarred his ribs and legs too much—he was beside a horse? Walking while someone else rode. While _Malon_ rode. Link wasn’t sure of anything. He could hardly hear, hardly see. It seemed the only sense that remained sharp was pain. 

The minutes became hours and Link could no longer track them. His face _burned_ where the markings of the Fierce Deity colored it, but only on his right side—the side with the still-agonizing gash over one eye. He wasn’t sure if that eye was blind or not. He didn’t want to know. What had the Deity _done_ to him?

 _Never again. Never again,_ he swore. Deep down, Link knew he would willingly break that vow for his family. 

**_“I am glad you lived, child, but had you used me earlier and not resisted my control, we would have suffered less. Do not make such a vow.”_ **

It seemed he could hear the Deity just fine still when directly addressed. Or…

**_“I am telling him why I am displeased, madam. I will keep to my promise.”_ **

_Malon?_ Link tried to look through his own eyes—eye—but couldn’t. He could only hear one side of the conversation.

**_“You will need to catch him.”_ **

Then Link felt his own hands raise to find the wooden seam under his chin, tugging—

And he was back at last. 

“Link!”

The mask clattered to the floor—wooden. _Familiar._ He was home somehow—he’d been out of it for that long—as Malon hooked her arms under his shoulders from the front, ignoring the blood that began to seep into her clothes. Dizzily, Link managed to open his left eye, keeping the right one closed for fear of what he might show her.

“Link, don’t even _think_ about passing out right now,” Malon ordered, helping him stand and limp towards the nearest flat surface to lie on—in this case, the kitchen table. “I mean it, Fairy Boy, don’t-!”

But the pain was already building behind Link’s eyes, threatening to knock him out any minute. “Potion in… cupboard…” he managed, before disobeying Malon’s demand, blacking out just as they reached the table. 

He woke later, wounds bandaged but still aching, to see Malon having a hushed conversation with her father in the hallway. Link got up quietly and exited the other way so as not to disturb them, making it to the washroom for one reason and one reason only: the mirror.

_I know you did something to me. What was it?_

The patch over his bad eye covered only the eye. The rest of the gash had been stitched up with blue thread that stuck out against his pale skin like a beacon, and spots of blood still stained bits of his neck and shoulders even though his soaked-through shirt had long since been removed. 

Link was not concerned with the blood or the stitching.

He was concerned with the _marks._

Blue arrow, red stripes. He lacked the mirrored red markings the Deity had, but the new markings—no, _brands,_ he remembered them burning—framed his wounded eye like a mockery of a cradle. 

_...Time…_

He hesitantly touched the red stripes, yanking his hand away as if burned before it could make contact. 

_Time._

Link finally touched his forehead with just his fingertips, half-expecting the mark to burn. It didn’t. Instead, it reminded him of the Deity’s anger at not being used in time, and he _knew_ what lay under the eyepatch. 

_Time, get up!_

Link carefully peeled away the patch and opened his right eye with little struggle. A perfectly blank sclera stared back at him, devoid of iris or pupil. The Deity’s eye. 

_Time, please, come on!_

Link collapsed to one knee, the clatter finally summoning his family. He held tight to Malon when she appeared, the tears dripping only from his left eye, and swore that he didn’t regret doing it for her. 

“TIME, WAKE UP!”


	2. Unforgotten Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time swore to put away the mask all those years ago, but we all know he’d do anything for family... even if it meant taking power no mortal should ever use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the LU discord for giving me so many ~excellent~ ideas. Without further ado, the Pain

Time’s good eye snapped open to rain and thunder and the panicked face of Wind, who still had sleep in his eyes despite the roar of stormclouds from above and the ominous cracks of thunder every minute or so. 

“Thank Hylia!” said Wind, dragging Time to his feet and practically yelling over the pounding rain. “How’d you  _ sleep  _ through this? I thought you went into a coma! We gotta go find better shelter!”

Time noted that nearly everything he wore was soaked through already, including his face—good. The puffy feeling in his good eye told him that he’d been crying in his sleep, and he didn’t need the others asking why. “Where to?”

“Wild already told Twilight to go check our path out, but the nearest stable’s far!” Wind hollered, his higher voice hardly audible over the rain. Time didn’t like raising his voice, so he only nodded and slung his dripping bag over one shoulder as he stood, looking for the others. Despite the pouring rain and deafening thunder, they seemed alright—if groggy and soaked to the bone. 

_ They’re okay. I’m okay. It was just a memory.  _

Granted, he couldn’t see Twilight. Residual fear from his memory-turned-dream still churned in Time’s gut, forcing him to remember where he was and how he’d gotten there, and that his boys weren’t (currently) in any danger. Wild had even mentioned clearing out every single Octorock in the normally-infested woods recently before they had camped out for the night.

So Time could at least  _ somewhat  _ safely write off his unease as being left over from the memory, but a part of him—the part that had survived two quests, a war, and now at least part of an unknown mission—said that there was something else lingering in the air. 

Besides rain and thunder, anyway.

“Everybody take one of these!” Wild shouted, jarring Time from his stupor. He was brandishing several bottles of some fizzy-looking yellow-green liquid, barely visible through the driving rain. “We’ve got too much metal if this storm turns bad!”

Time, who was already strapping on his armor while Wild talked, sighed heavily and trudged through the mud to take a bottle. Wild gestured for him to pocket it while passing them out to the others, also eyeing his armor regretfully. 

“No lightning yet,” he said loudly, “but there might be soon! Keep that elixir on you!”

“How far is the stable?” Legend hollered over a particularly loud crack of thunder, his bangs plastered to his face. Time refrained from pointing out that he looked a bit like a drowned rat, as he was sure Warriors would say it soon. 

Wild winced. “Far! Sorry!”

Time took his attention away from the budding spat for a moment to really listen to his instincts—all of which were now borderline _screaming_ at him that something was wrong, something was coming, and if he didn’t move soon-

A horse’s shrill whinny tore through the sound of rain a moment later, sharp and distinct in Time’s ears. Next thing he knew, Twilight’s Epona was skidding to a stop close enough to nearly flatten him and Twilight himself was dismounting as if the saddle itself burned, a haunted look coloring his face. 

“Trouble,” he said loudly before any of the gathered heroes could ask. “Wild,  _ tell me you have ancient arrows!” _

Wild went pale around his scars. “I’m out! I was gonna pick up more tomorrow since it’s close, but…”

Warriors cut in, his face grim despite the rain plastering his bangs to his face. “What kind of trouble?”

“Lynels! Three that I saw, maybe more, silver ones, they’re blocking the south exit of the woods-“

Time felt the blood leave his face and knew without looking that the others bore the same expression. His mind scrambled for solutions, landing on the only local they had. “Wild, are there any other paths out?”

But Wild was already shaking his head, his Slate in his hands. “We can’t climb the cliffs in this weather, and Skull Lake’s a dead end—no shrines close enough to be useful, either, I can’t take all of you at once!”

It was almost ridiculous, having a rapidly-turning-desperate conversation while shouting over wind, rain, and thunder, but Time spared not a single thought towards laughing. 

“I thought you said Lynels were solitary!” said Warriors to Wild, the commanding tone of his voice in sharp contrast to the fear in his eyes. “That they never hunt in groups!”

“They are!” Wild protested, but then he gulped. “Unless…”

Time knew what he was thinking without anyone needing to voice it. Monsters acting abnormal meant infection, and Wild’s Lynels were fearsome on their own. More than one, and high up in the color system of Wild’s which Time had gotten all-too-familiar with… 

“This isn’t a fight we should take!” he said, and to his surprise, more than one hero nodded grimly. 

“What else can we do?” hollered Wind, angrily yanking his soaked bangs out of his eyes. 

“I have an idea!”

Everyone turned to Twilight, who kept a calming hand on his Epona as he spoke. “I’ll play bait-“

“No!”

Time wasn’t even sure who else had shouted with him, but Twilight didn’t back down. “Do you not trust my skills? I can lead them on a wild-cucco chase while the rest of you get to better cover and escape on my own!”

“They might not all chase you!” Wild pointed out. “Lynels are smart!”

“They spotted me once already! I can at least get one of them off your backs, and that’s all that matters to me—does anyone else have a  _ better _ plan? I’m the best rider here, it’s me or no one!”

Time wanted so  _ badly  _ to say yes, so badly it hurt, but a single glance around the rest of the heroes told him that they all had the same amount of plans he did—which is to say, none. So they all agreed with varying levels of apprehension, and Twilight rode away in the opposite direction Wild chose to lead them. 

And the plan  _ worked.  _

Under cover of darkness and rain and Twilight’s distraction, the heroes actually made progress across the stretch of muddy field that lay between Roc Forest and the woods Wild assured them had more than one escape route to use. The occasional roar and  _ twang  _ of bowstrings made it through the lessening rain, stopping Time’s heart with every echo, but the plan was working. 

Then one Lynel, visible as only a silhouette in the rain, spotted the sneaking heroes and promptly signaled the others. Time braced himself for a hard fight.

—

The rain was stopping, for all the  _ good  _ it did them. 

Sky was down, Warriors busy protecting him. Legend had run out of arrows, Wild’s bowstring had snapped. Wind’s ankle was seriously injured, Hyrule and Four were stuck healing or defending him. 

No one to give Twilight backup, no one to stop the remaining Lynels from causing even more serious damage. Time could do nothing but watch as Twilight dodged and weaved, knowing that each swipe from the massive beast could be his pup’s last. 

The mask hummed. 

And this time, he didn’t hesitate to yank it from his pack and put it on, even when Warriors spotted him in the act and recognized it. 

“Time,  _ no-!” _

But Time was already gone. 

—

The Deity awoke within his host with a roar of mixed joy and fury—joy at living again,  _ breathing  _ again, and fury at the reason he had been called upon. His first breath was spent relishing the cool air. The next was spent swinging his sword into existence and declaring in his booming voice,  **_“Duck.”_ **

The heroes nearest to him obeyed instantly, allowing the Deity’s sword beam to pass right over them and slam into the threatening Lynels. He was gone a moment later, sprinting inhumanly fast with sword brandished to challenge the first monster who dared place the descendant of his host in danger. The spear-wielding Lynel spotted him and left off chasing the Hero of Twilight, pivoting on hind legs to roar his challenge to the Deity, who roared right back and didn’t even slow.

He was almost  _ small _ next to the Lynel.

Still, he knew the beast would not underestimate him. 

And so the Deity began a lethal dance of spear, sword, and fire, almost impressed by the sheer tenacity his opponent wielded. His strikes carved chunks from the spear’s shaft and the beast’s thick hide, trading with the Lynel’s heavy-handed blows which actually knocked the Deity _backwards_ a few inches. 

_ Twilight,  _ said his host urgently, distracting the Deity for a millisecond—had the incident all those years ago given his host more agency? He compensated for the distraction with a sword beam straight to the Lynel’s face, stunning it and causing black, viscous blood to splash across his armor.

**_“Do not distract me!”_ **

But still the Deity spared a precious few seconds to look, to check on his host’s descendant—the reason he was awake, breathing, fighting—and saw a truly fantastic display of horse riding. Not many mere mortals could avoid the strikes of a mace-wielding Lynel so skillfully on horseback, and not many horses would trust their rider to such a degree to weave across a rocky plain while chased by the ultimate predator. The Hero of Twilight wasn’t even trying to get away, just to distract the beast so that his companions had a better chance.

The Deity glanced back up and dodged an overhand strike that would have cleaved him in two, and when the Lynel’s spear became stuck in the ground for less than a second, he struck, finally ending the beast and his one-on-one fight. Three minutes—a record for how long a singular enemy had kept him busy, save for the fight with Majora. 

Without skipping a beat, the Deity changed tack, locating his next target and leaping straight over the hulk of the spear-wielding Lynel’s body to charge forward. His host’s descendant had made it near the treeline, perhaps trying to make it harder for his pursuer to give chase—after all, not even the horse of a Hero could run forever, and he still had to get away once the others were safe.

For an instant, hope flared from the portion of the Deity’s mind that still wholly belonged to his host. 

Then the Hero of Twilight took a risk, and a scream echoed from across the battlefield—from the other heroes—when the Lynel anticipated its prey’s attempt to feint into the woods and lashed out. It didn’t hit dead-on,  _ but it did connect.  _

No one was close enough when the mace hit his host’s descendant in a glancing blow, knocking him flat off his horse at the mercy of his pursuer.

“NO!”

To the Deity’s shock, it was not his voice that cried out next. Rather, it  _ was  _ his voice, but not his inflection or pitch. 

His host had taken over.

**_Let me take control! You are blinded!_ ** he bellowed from that odd in-between space, but his host was not listening, so busy was he charging a sword blast and trying his hardest to break the sound barrier on foot. He hit the beast head-on with sword, magic, and strength, outright forcing it to move away from the Hero of Twilight and to focus on a new opponent. The Lynel—no fool, it seemed—immediately leapt away and tried to breathe fire only for his host to bat the blow away. 

Distantly, the Deity noticed the Hero of Hyrule come skidding across the muddy battlefield, pink magic already gathered around his hands to heal his fallen friend. There was still one live Lynel being dealt with by the other heroes, but they would lose soon without help.  **_If you wish to keep control, keep the other beast away from them!_ **

_ “Don’t distract me!” _ snarled his host, lashing out with a swipe so strong it cleaved the Lynel’s hand from its arm. Now unable to wield its mace properly, it bellowed in pain and attempted to bowl his host over—but to even the Deity’s shock, his host merely braced himself and halted the charge in its steps. 

A moment of tense, straining muscles and brutal strength passed. 

Then his host strengthened his stance and heaved the Lynel to the side—not far, but far _enough,_ far enough to make the Deity wonder just how far his host would push the power available to him if control wasn’t reestablished. 

His host answered that question a moment later, striking before the Lynel could get up and killing the beast in a single strike. Even the Deity was slightly taken aback by the sheer unnecessary  _ savagery _ of the font of blood that spilled to the ground, and realized that his vision was beginning to white-out at the edges.

His host turned from the bleeding hulk and towards the other heroes, breathing heavily through the pain, moving erratically as he staggered slightly through the mud. His gaze alighted not on the Hero of Hyrule bent over his descendant, but a stranger, with  _ magic,  _ unfamiliar magic that could do harm-

**_No, child!_ **

The Deity summoned every ounce of his strength, this time holding his host  _ back,  _ and finally reasserted himself as being in control. The Deity’s power had gone to his host’s head, fueled by fear and grief, and the power of a god was a dangerous thing in mortal hands.  _ Deadly.  _

**_“I’ll take this back, child,”_ ** he said, sheathing the sword. His host tried to break the firm grip the Deity had, but found he could not and subsided, pain taking over his portion of their shared mind. He should not even have been  _ conscious,  _ but it seemed the Deity would be seeing repercussions of his decision to save his host’s eye and life all those years ago for a time yet. 

The Lynel formerly attacking the other heroes had fallen, the final blow struck with a golden claymore held by the Hero of the Wild, and not a single one of them stopped to consider the victory. The Deity waited to approach their huddle around where he knew his host’s descendant was being tended to, addressing his host sternly in the meantime.

**_“You will lose yourself to my power if you are not careful,”_ ** he growled, keeping a wary eye out for any enemy who could sneak up on the other heroes.  **_“What have you become in my absence?”_ **

_ I don’t care what  _ you _ have to say about morals. Get me to Twilight.  _

The Deity, slightly taken aback by the coherency of the statement, did so. It was not a pretty sight. His host’s descendant hadn’t moved from where he hit the ground, his skin had gone pale, and blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and soaked the cloth at his shoulder—but he breathed still, and the healer above him had stopped frantically administering magic and potions. 

“He’ll live,” the Hero of Hyrule was saying, his hand shuddering as he tucked bloodied cloth and empty potion bottles away. “I-I think, it was a hard hit and I didn’t get here fast enough and his head-“

He stopped, finally noticing the Deity’s approach. The others had had their backs to him, but they turned now, and the array of different reactions all shared one underlying emotion: fear. The Hero of Hyrule moved almost unconsciously to lean further over the Hero of Twilight, shielding him. 

“Fierce Deity. I didn’t know he still had you,” said one eventually. The Captain, the one his host had fought beside in the War of Eras. 

“You  _ know  _ this… guy?” snapped the Hero of Legend. “What the hell is going on?”

**_“We do not have time for petty squabbles or reintroductions,”_ ** said the Deity, his voice stunning the heroes into silence.  **_“Hero of Hyrule.”_ **

The healer frowned slightly, confused. “...Yeah?”

**_“His condition?”_ **

“Alive. Not stable, not—not safe, but alive,” he managed.

The Deity considered this.  **_“Hero of Wilds.”_ **

The hero in question jerked, his gaze flicking between his unconscious companion and the Deity. “That’s—that’s me.”

**_“How many can your Sheikah technology carry?”_ **

“Not nine at once-“

**_“I asked what it can do, not what it can’t.”_ **

The Hero of Wilds swallowed. “Three, max. That includes me.”

**_“Then you take the healer and the Hero of Twilight to your Zora’s Domain. As I understand, they are renowned healers,”_ ** said the Deity. He left no room for argument.  **_“We will make for the nearest shrine to wait.”_ **

“Deity, that’s…” the Captain stopped himself, glancing down at the pale face of the Hero of Twilight. “That might be all we can do.”

No one else argued. The Hero of Legend opened his mouth as if to do so, but his gaze flicked to the black blood staining the Deity’s armor and he closed his mouth once more. They were all too stunned to say anything more as the Hero of Wilds took his passengers’ hands and disappeared into skeins of blue light. 

Later, not far from the stable which had been the heroes’ original destination—so long ago to his host, who had gone silent and still—the Captain finally broke the silence.

“He still has you. How long has he kept the mask?”

**_“Decades,”_ ** said the Deity smoothly, continuing to clean his blade as he sat and waited underneath a red-leaved tree.  **_“I have remained with him since he first picked up the mask, and I will remain for as long as I can. He used me but once between today and when you two parted ways.”_ **

That statement earned the Captain some odd glances, but he ignored them. 

“You can take off the mask now,” he said. “We’re safe.”

**_“I will not. Not yet.”_ **

“Why?”

The Deity paused to look up, to look the Captain in the eye.  **_“He would collapse. You do not need any more deadweight-“_ **

“Don’t talk like that!” snapped the young Hero of Winds—Toon, as the soldiers in the Captain’s era called an older version of him. This one had not seen that war yet, but fire still burned in his eyes when he leapt to his feet.

The Captain tried to stop him. “Wind, don’t, he’s not someone you yell at-“

“No! Don’t talk like Twilight’s already—like he’s—“

It seemed that Toon could not continue, so the Deity did for him.  **_“We do not know his fate yet. I believe he will live. An unconscious body is not good to have with you, but it is better than a dead one.”_ **

A shudder went around the group.

“Why would Time collapse if you took off the mask now?” challenged the Captain.

The Deity looked him in the eyes again, this time allowing his head to tilt slightly.  **_“He has not told you of the last time he used my power, has he?”_ **

Glances all around. Mumbled negatives. 

**_“I shared too much of it with him, back then,”_ ** said the Deity, brushing a hand over his right eye and the marking beneath it.  **_“I am a war god, Captain. There is a reason I am the one who takes control over the wearer’s body. My host… needs a chance to recover. I will not remove the mask until the Hero of Twilight is out of danger, for that wound is what caused my power to overflow.”_ **

“So we’re waiting for Twilight to get better to get Time back,” said the Hero of Skies somewhat numbly. “Am I reading this right?”

“He’ll be okay,” said the Captain. “I know he will. Just watch, he’ll be trying to escape bed rest in no time.”

—

Two weeks. Twilight had been unconscious for  _ two weeks.  _

Time may have only been vaguely aware of the passage of his namesake—the Deity had kept a firm grip on his mind, insistent that he needed rest and supervision—but he heard the words spoken distantly through his haze of grief and disorientation. Someone would have jokingly called it a hangover—maybe Legend or Warriors.

Or Twilight. 

_ Pup, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. _

**_“Child-“_ **

_ Don’t you  _ dare _ say a word. This is as much your fault as it is mine.  _

**_“I am glad your mind is clearer now, but his injury is far from your fault.”_ **

“Is Fierce talking to somebody?”

“I think he’s talking to… to Time. He used to call him ‘Child’ in the war. Just let him be, Wind.”

With that, the Fierce Deity switched to speaking to Time only, not aloud.  **_I made a mistake to attempt to focus on one monster alone. You made a mistake to wrench control from me. In that way, we are both to blame._ **

Time felt a pang, though he knew his body wasn’t his.  _ I failed him. All that power at my fingertips, and I failed him. What  _ use _ is this mask? All you’ve done is cause pain… _

**_You know I swore to protect you. I do not make such oaths lightly. There is one thing about my power, child, that I wish was not true… I am only good for battle, and battle is pain no matter how you try to change it._ **

“Wild, what’s with your chest?”

“I  _ know  _ it’s still in there, Wars. If it heals  _ me, _ then maybe…”

_ I won’t fail him again. Any of them. I won’t let that happen if I have even the slightest say in it,  _ swore Time.

**_Child, I respect you. But you have broken oaths regarding power twice already. What is stopping you from breaking it again?_ **

“Link, are you sure of this? It took my sister years to build up her power and control it properly. I would never doubt you, but are you  _ certain _ you can use it?”

“I have to be.”

“Wild, only do this if you’re sure you’ll survive it. We… we can’t lose two people.”

_ Because this one is different,  _ said Time.

“She thought about the people she cared about for this… Twilight,  _ please.” _

_ I’m not making this one because I’m afraid. _

“Holy Hylia!”

“Friends of Link, stay back! He needs space to keep this up!”

_ I’m making this one because I’m stubborn. I love each and every one of those boys as my own, and I refuse to let fate deal them the kind of blows I’ve received. Anything I can teach them, give them, I’ll give. Anything I can protect them from, I’ll do it.  _

**_An oath made from love at its core,_ ** mused the Deity.  **_That may very well follow you beyond the grave, child._ **

_ Let it. I don’t care. _

“Twilight! Hey, Twi, you’re okay, it’s  _ okay-“ _

**_“I am removing the mask. Captain, you will need to catch him.”_ **

And everything went white a moment later.

—

Taste was the first to return—his mouth was dry and metallic, reminding Time that the Fierce Deity wasn’t likely to need to eat.

Then came touch—something soft under his head, gentle pressure from the clothes he wore under his armor, what might have been a blanket weighing down his lower half, and the sensation of something or someone weighing down the mattress to his left. A hand on his arm, holding it gently. 

Next, smell—something clean, medical, but also the smell of saltwater, enough to sting Time’s nose slightly and make him grimace.

Sound faded in—quiet, jumbled voices, concerned and hushed and curious all at once. Time couldn’t quite place all of them, not right away, but he was sure at least one was Twilight’s, so he tried to open his eyes and check.

Light flooded in and Time immediately closed his eyes again, inwardly berating himself for forgetting to close his right one from the beginning. It  _ stung,  _ completely unlike when he’d first opened it after the incident, and he got the feeling something  _ else _ had happened regarding the Deity’s features on his own face.

“Time?”

Slowly, excruciatingly, Time dragged his left eye open and focused on whoever was sitting on the bed beside him. He had been right about the voice, at least, and he pushed himself up into a semi-upright position to try and get a better look around the room. 

Then suddenly he found himself enveloped in shaking arms and Twilight was hanging on like his life depended on it, his nose buried in Time’s shoulder.

“Wars explained,” he said thickly, his voice muffled by both Time’s shoulder and emotion. “You didn’t have to do that for me, he could have never taken off the mask, you could have—I’m not worth you losing yourself, Time, I-“

“I don’t regret putting on the mask. I regret that it didn’t save you from getting hit,” said Time, his voice rough and cracked from lack of use. Stiffly, he raised his arms and pulled Twilight closer, reminding himself that  _ it worked, he’s safe, he’s alive, it’s okay.  _

Then his bangs brushed his eyes and Time tried to blow them away, but something different caught his attention. He pulled away and tried—unsuccessfully—to get a look at his own hair. 

“Time, that—just wait a second, I’ll be right back” said Twilight, standing up with slight difficulty and leaving the room. It gave Time a chance to look around—he didn’t recognize where he was, but it was definitely some kind of infirmary. Judging by the fish imagery and the sound of water flowing outside, probably Wild’s Zora’s Domain. No one else was in the room. Had he hallucinated the muffled conversation Twilight had been having, or had the other person left?

Minutes later, Twilight came back holding a small, shell-shaped mirror carefully, delicately, as if he was afraid it would shatter under the slightest bit of pressure—or maybe afraid it would reflect the wrong thing. He held it out to Time with slightly trembling fingers. 

The man in the mirror was pale, with a blue arrow on his forehead and red stripes along one cheek so bright they almost seemed to  _ glow _ against his skin. Time ran a finger along the red stripes, and so did the man in the mirror. The pallor of his skin was nothing against the shock of white hair which now framed his face. Time’s normal blond was still there, but it now looked like a long-abandoned dye job—the roots had gone white as snow, taking over several inches and leaving the blond barely visible.

Twilight waited for Time’s response with perfectly still limbs and total silence, as if he feared a single word would make Time crack. 

“Legend’s never going to stop calling me Old Man now,” said Time, trying to quirk a smile, but the joke fell flat. 

“Time…” Twilight began, his voice weak.

“Don’t. I see you blaming yourself,” said Time. “Using that mask… has consequences. I knew that when I put it on. The Deity isn’t someone you mess with. He’s not human or Hylian, and he doesn’t operate the way we understand things. If his host makes a mistake, he corrects it.”

“You sound like you understand him pretty well.”

“I should,” said Time. He hesitated a moment before slowly, carefully, opening his right eye for Twilight to see, trusting his pup not to panic. “We’ve shared more than a headspace. He and I understand each other fairly well.”

As if in a trance, Twilight raised a hand as if to reach out, but he snatched it back a moment later. “I thought that eye was blind…”

“He’s the reason I still have it, in whatever capacity,” said Time. “He’s protected me before. I’m… I’m  _ so _ sorry it didn’t work for you.”

He set the mirror down and pulled Twilight into another hug, holding on the way a drowning man clings to a single piece of driftwood, and remembered what the Deity had told him about oaths that followed into the afterlife. 

_ I still don’t care. Not if I can protect even just one of them. Let my oaths chase me all they like—I’ll never let go.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: in case there is any confusion about how Wild healed Twilight, it’s my personal theory that some sliver of the Champions’ abilities stuck with Wild after they passed on, available for him to learn to use if he could figure out how. He used that power for himself, there was no dying involved.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Smoke on the Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772431) by [AideStar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AideStar/pseuds/AideStar)




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